Falling for Dad's Best Friend Page 5

  This reasoning sets my conscience at ease and I turn off Mike’s computer. Needless to say, I’ll not tell him I used it.

  I don’t see Mike for the next day because he again goes out early and returns home late. He never even turns on his home computer. I turn it on Friday afternoon and see that my email is buried in hundreds of other messages. Shit. I’ve got to think of another way.

  On Friday night I intend to wait for Mike to come home, but I drift into sleep after midnight. Not for long, though. I’m startled awake by a loud clashing sound downstairs. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, and then I rush out of my room. “Mike! Is that you?” I call as I run down the stairs.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry if I…er…wake you, Kitty,” he slurs.

  Oh, no. He’s drunk. I stop at the base of the stairwell, watching him as he picks up the shoe rack that he knocked off earlier.

  He’s wearing his business attire: a white shirt with faint blue stripes. The top buttons are undone, showing his tan skin. His stubble is longer than I last saw it, and his hair is a bit messy. His cheeks are red and his eyes brighter than usual.

  His eyes darken as he saw me. I’m wearing my lace top babydoll silk nightie, and no panties.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice trembling with excitement.

  “Yes,” he says as he walks toward me, his eyes roaming over my body.

  He stops when he’s two steps away from me and asks me in a gruff voice, “Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

  He sounds mad. I pause for a moment and say timidly, “I’m waiting for you.”

  “You’re not supposed to. Dammit!” he shouts. “You’re taxing me, you little temptress, while I’m trying to do the right thing!”

  “I’m sorry!” I say. “I’ll go back to my room now.”

  Just when I’m about to turn, he grasps my hand and pulls me into his arms. He holds me tightly and kisses my head. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I shouldn’t shout at you.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, trembling with joy.

  He pulls away and pushes me against the wall, gazing at me with lust in his eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  My heart beats frantically as I wait breathlessly for his next move. When he brushes the tips of my breasts with the back of his fingers, I shudder. It’s just the sensation I’ve been craving in the past few days. I moan while grinding my ass against the wall.

  His lips cover mine soon, and I moan as soon as I taste the whiskey on his lips.

  His hand cups my breast through my nightie, and then drifts down to stroke my hip, scraping my skin with his rough hands.

  My thighs are already wet with my desire when his hand reaches my center.

  “Damn. You’re as wet as I remember,” he murmurs. “Are you always like this?”

  “No, Mike. Only when I’m with you.”

  He groans and kneels on the floor in front of me, spreading my legs wide.

  “Holy fuck,” he croaks when he sees my drenched pussy. “You look so delicious.”

  Before I know it, his tongue is exploring my folds, licking me from top to bottom. The tip of his tongue lingers at my clit, making little circles and sending delicious electric waves to all over my body.

  “Oh Mike. I love it.” My moans become low and urgent and I grasp his hair as my body tenses up.

  Mike smirks as he stares at me with his intense blue eyes, enjoying the sight of me turning into jelly. When I stiffen, his hand strokes my breast through the soft silk.

  A tidal wave sweeps through me and my walls convulse. “Oh, Mike!” I cry out as my legs give out to the powerful sensation.

  Mike catches me in his arms and kisses me. “You may go to bed now, my sweet little kitty,” he says as he helps me to stand up.

  I shake my head and push him away from me. “It’s my turn,” I say and drop on my knees.

  I unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, watching his face turn redder and his breathing faster.

  I gasp the moment I free his cock from his boxers. It has to be at least eight inches, and it’s so fat. My pussy is wet again, as if I haven’t just come. I lick the drop of precum from his tip as I stroke him. Mike grasps both of my shoulders tightly. “Fuck.”

  I lick him from root to top a few times before I take the head of his cock into my mouth. It’s so big my jaw clicks, but I couldn’t care less. All I know is I finally get to taste Mike’s cock. I bob my head up and down, rubbing his cock against the inside of my mouth, while griping the base of him with both my hands tightly and gliding them up and down along his shaft.

  “Fuck you’re good,” he praises between groans.

  I take the risk of gagging by sinking my mouth down further, knowing he would like the softness of my throat. Mike stops me. “You don’t have to do it, sweetheart. It’s already good.”

  But I ignore him. I want to pleasure him, whatever the cost. I stop momentarily when a gagging sensation hits me, and then I try again, applying the tricks I learned online. Mike’s cock throbs in my mouth and a warm jet of cum shoots into my throat. I swallow quickly before it chokes me.

  Mike carries me onto the couch. He strips himself naked, and stands in front of me in all his glory. My eyes pop out of my head as I gawk at the spectacular sight. I’ve only seen him nearly naked, in his swim trunks, when I was little. I don’t remember him being so beautiful. Maybe I just didn’t look at him the way I do now. Back then, he was simply my dad’s best friend, but now, he’s a man, a sexy hunk.

  I spread my legs for him, waiting eagerly for him to enter me.

  I’m still in a haze when he straddles on top of me. “Do you have a condom?” I ask without thinking.

  Just like that, the lust in his eyes vanishes completely and he exhales deeply. “Shit. What the fuck am I doing?”

  “Never mind!” I say as soon as I realize my blunder and grasp his arm, but too late.

  He gets off me and puts his boxers back on. “Go to bed, Kitty,” he says.

  “Please come back, Mike,” I say as he hurries upstairs, but he doesn’t turn.

  Shit. I’m so stupid! Why on earth did I say that? It’s a habit. I’m used to advocate safe sex to my callers. But I’ve ruined my chance with Mike.

  I can’t sleep a wink during the night and rise before dawn. I wait at the living room to speak to Mike.

  Mike comes down, freshly washed and dressed, although I detect signs of weariness from his slightly puffy eye bags. Even so, he looks sexy and I can’t help feeling all tingling again.

  “Good morning, Mike,” I say to him after taking a deep breath. “Are we still going to the Getty Center?”

  “Of course, Kitty,” he says, avoiding my eyes.

  It takes about half an hour’s drive from Mike’s house to the Getty. We speak little when we’re in Mike’s Porsche. I don’t even remember how we get to the museum. I only vaguely remember taking the tram from the parking and landing on the top of the hill where the museum is located.

  Mike keeps a distance as we walk. Even so, I feel the friction between our nearly touched skin. I inhale his sandalwood scent madly every time I catch a whiff of it and I shiver whenever I meet his eyes.

  I love going to art museums. I feel in awe when I view the artworks created by people who lived hundreds of years ago. I marvel at the tremendous amount of effort and time the artists took to create them. They have the power of transporting me into a fantasy land, and I always feel spiritually purified when I’m inside a museum.

  But not today. Today my mind has no room for intellectual or spiritual pursuits. It’s dominated by carnal instinct. We are in the exhibition of Michelangelo’s work. While Mike is appreciating the drawing skills and mastery crafts of the famous artist, all I see are naked bodies. Beautiful, male, naked, bodies. And yet none of them is as beautiful as Mike. Oh God! Just remembering his taut muscles makes my mouth water, not to mention his…

  “Look at the arm,” Mike is saying as he examines a drawing on the wall. “I can see the tension and the
force just by the shapes of the muscles.”

  I look at the picture and nod. It’s a beautiful, muscular arm. I recall Mike’s biceps when he held me last night. Yes, I can still feel the tension and the force… My thighs tingle. Holy shit. I need to get a grip.

  After the museum, Mike takes me to an Italian restaurant for lunch, and then he drops me off at his house at around two, saying he has to go to his office.

  “When will you come home?” I ask after getting out of his car.

  “The usual time,” he says.

  I want to cry when I hear that. I was hoping he’ll be home earlier because tomorrow I’ll be going back to Sunnyfield.

  But I hold back my tears. I know by now that Mike isn’t a person that’s easy to convince. Although he is attracted to me, he has a strong moral sense and he wants to do the right thing. I don’t want to make it difficult for him.

  “Okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye.” His eyes linger on mine as if he wants to say something, but he swallows and drives away.

  I’m not really in the mood to give love advice but I turn on my computer just to distract myself.

  I answer a couple of questions about dating and speak to a client about kissing, and then I decide to write a blog about my past days’ experience. I want to tell my potential readers and listeners I might be wrong about girls being sexually outgoing. Perhaps some guys nowadays still appreciate girls being reserved or hard to get, especially guys who like to be in control, guys like Mike.

  I’m into the second paragraph when I see another message on my website. A middle-aged male caller needs advice on relationship. I pause for a moment and click on the call button while putting on my professional, mature, consultant voice that I’ve practiced over and over for two years.

  “Hello, I’m Kay, how may I help you today?”

  A man clears his throat and speaks. “Hi Kay, thanks for taking my call. I… err, think I could use some advice on relationships.”

  “Sure, I’ll try. First of all, how may I address you?”

  “Oh, you can call me Mike.”

  Holy shit! Mike? No wonder he sounds familiar. I’m so shocked I forget how to speak. Is this real, or am I dreaming?

  “What exactly is your issue, Mike?” My voice trembles.

  “Well, you see. I’m…uh… interested in a girl I can’t have.”

  I almost gasp. He is the Mike, for sure.

  I take a deep breath before speaking again, “Why do you think you can’t have her?”

  “Because she’s off limits. She’s my best friend’s daughter.”

  Hi Mike. “Why does it make her off-limits?” I say, trying to slow down my breathing. “It’s not against the law to date your best friend’s daughter.”

  “But it’s wrong,” says Mike. “I’ve watched her grow up from a little angel.”

  “That only makes it sweeter,” I say, feeling a clench in my stomach. “But since when did your feelings for her change?”

  “Two years ago when she was about sixteen. At her dad’s wedding. She was so stunning. All I could think of was how to take her… it was horrifying.”

  Oh my. I recall his smoldering eyes that day. I was also thinking about the ways you could take me.

  “Why was it horrifying?” I say with a lump in my throat. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  Mike didn’t notice the change in my voice. “No. It’s wrong. I felt like a pervert. I couldn’t face her for two years because I was afraid I would do something despicable to her. But she’s staying with me now, and every day is a torture to me. I try to avoid her, but it isn’t easy. She’s a passionate girl. I almost lost control last night.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks. I didn’t know about Mike’s emotional struggle. I thought he was a tough guy guided by principles. “Maybe you should give her a chance,” I say, losing my professional voice.

  “But I don’t want to ruin her life. I’m too old for her. She deserves a younger man, a man her age who can share a future with her.”

  I didn’t know about that. “I have to disagree with you. Many young men are immature. She might end up pregnant by some irresponsible jerk and spend her life to pay for her mistake. I’ve known too many cases like that in my two years’ consulting career. Many girls lose their heads to their high-school sweethearts who turn out to be useless wimps who are unable to support themselves, not to mention a family.”

  I’m just a bit excited when it comes to the topic, and my agitation alarms my cat.

  She jumps onto my lap first, and then onto my keyboard. She puts her paw on the screen and cries, “Meow!”

  I laugh as I remove her from my laptop. “Stop it, Blondie!” Oops. I cover my mouth.

  A silence follows.

  I clear my throat. “Err, Mike, are you still there? I’m sorry, it’s… err… my cat.”

  “Yes, I heard her,” he says. “And what’s her name again?”

  “Her name is…err…B…Blanca, like in Casa Blanca, you know? She’s a white…Turkish Van… Do you like cats, Mike? Hello?”

  Shit. He’s hung up. Oh God. What does it mean? Has he found out I’m Kay? Is he mad at me? Did I blow my chance again?

  I’m horrified at the thought. The man just opened his heart and exposed his vulnerability to me, because he thought I was a stranger and a professional. If he knew he spoke to me, an amateur, and the source of his dilemma instead, then he would for sure be embarrassed. What the hell have I done? What am I going to do?

  For a moment, I sit where I am, unable to come up with a solution. And then, I spring to my feet, and grab my suitcase. I have to get out of here before Mike comes back. I can’t face him.

  I stuff everything that’s mine into the suitcase, including dirty clothes I haven’t gotten the chance to wash. I think about writing a note to apologize, but I can’t write anything sensible at the moment. Pulling my suitcase in one hand and taking the cat carrier in the other, I reach the front door. I cast a last glance at the living room that I’ve become familiar with, my eyes lingering on the couch. I almost gave my virginity to Mike last night. I was so close. Well, maybe he isn’t meant to be, after all. I’ll have to find a way to forget him.

  Tears stream down my cheeks. I’ve never felt so defeated. I love Mike and I’ve never lost hope in receiving his love, too. And I was looking forward to this week’s stay with him. I thought it would change my life, but I was overconfident.

  I reach for the doorknob the moment I hear keys jingle. I freeze and step back.

  The door throws open and Mike stands in the doorway. I tremble when I see him. He looks mad. His eyes are narrow, his lips are pressed together and his jaws are tight.

  “Hi, Mike,” I say in a funny, high-pitched voice. “You’re back so early. I thought you wouldn’t until…”

  He doesn’t let me finish my sentence. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I…uh…going home,” I say incoherently, looking down at the cat carrier to avoid his eyes.

  He steps into the house and shuts the door. “You want to run away?”

  “W…what are you talking about? Of course not.” I force a laugh. “I miss home. I can’t wait to see my dad…and his wife…and the twins.”

  “Really?” He smirks as he moves closer to me, cornering me into the wall and forcing me to let go of my suitcase.

  He puts one hand against the wall, next to me, and lifts my chin with his other hand so I have to face him.

  A look into his smoldering eyes makes my knees wobble. He looks even hotter when he’s mad.

  “Just how many tricks do you have, little girl?”

  “What do you mean? I don’t… have tricks.”

  “Oh? How do you explain your consulting website and your hotline? And how on earth did your email get past my Spambox?”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Mike! I’m not trying to trick you. I… I love you! But you wouldn’t give me a chance!” Shit. Why did I say that? I’m
not supposed to. A girl is not supposed to say it first.

  Mike looks taken aback. His eyes soften for a moment, but soon harden again. “And so you decided to manipulate me? You wicked girl,” he mutters. His lips are an inch away from mine and his breath feels hot on my face.

  My nipples harden and my inner thighs clench. “I want you, Mike,” I blur.

  He squeezes his eyes shot and lets out a deep sigh. “Damn it. Kitty. You are not supposed to. You’re John’s baby girl. I can’t have you!”

  “Yes you can,” I say, reaching to stroke his cheek. “I’m not a child anymore. I’m a grownup and I want you, Mike.”

  His eyes darken. “You don’t’ know what you’re wishing for.”

  “No I don’t know. But you can show me, Mike.”

  He growers as he pinches my chin harder before letting it go. He clenches his teeth and commands, “Very well. Put down your cat, and get to the couch.”

  I’m thrilled by the fire in his eyes. He looks determined and dangerous. I put down the cat carrier quickly and walk to the couch.

  I don’t dare to sit down, but look at him and wait for his order.

  “Take off your shorts,” he says.

  I shudder at the raw command. Is he going to fuck me? I dare not ask the question either, afraid he would change his mind if I did.

  I take off my shorts promptly and stand in my thong.

  His eyes narrow. “Goddammit, Kitty, do wear this to school, too?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Now turn and bend over the couch.”

  I obey his order obediently, putting my arms on the couch. My ass points to the ceiling for him to see.

  His breath hitches. For a while there is no movement or sound, and I become nervous. “W…what are you going to do, Mike?” I ask in a trembling voice.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he says as I hear a smacking sound, followed by a stinging sensation on my butt.

  I squeal. “Ohmygod! You’re spanking me?”

  “Yes, baby, that’s what I’m doing,” he says as he gives me another swat. “And you know why?”

  I swallow. “Yes, sir. I’ve been naughty…but.”